


Of Officers and Royal[tea]

by tolya



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolya/pseuds/tolya
Summary: Anya gets a rare stroke of luck- she gets hired at a tea shop in the city. With it, every day her dreams seem a little bit closer.Meanwhile Gleb Vaganov tries his best to help his mother with her shop when he's not tied up in his office filling out reports on useless gossip. He's surprised and delighted when he recognizes his mother's new hire- but as time passes it seems to be she's more than any of them could have ever expected.(aka every ship needs a Coffe Shop AU. This one just happens to be with tea. because of Gleb's line in Rumor)





	Of Officers and Royal[tea]

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeey
> 
> So this is my first dip into this fandom and I went with a cliche. ooops.
> 
> But I got this idea and it wouldn't let go so here I am. 
> 
> Also, there's some artistic liberties taken as though it's slightly implied with past tense, it's not explicitly said where Mama Vaganov is. So I ran with it (I also thought the dynamic might be interesting)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Anya ran a hand down her blouse and skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles and brushing off any specks of pollen that might have stuck to her in her walk from the bridge. Springtime was lovely, she reveled in the warmth of the longer days with their sunshine; ever greatful for the time when she didn't have to lug her thick coat around her shoulders. With the changes in the season came all the new life on the plants and it seemed the pollen floated from every which way, and Anya wanted to look nice for her first day at her new job.

After all, she had been so sure she wouldn't even get it in the first place. Anya had been a jittery mess of nerves, speaking in a rushed jumble, trying to sell herself to the shop owner. She blurted out her experiences in hurried list, washing dishes, aiding nurses in the hospital, even crossing Russia- to which she knew everyone seemed to be skeptical of. The woman who had owned the little tea shop had asked Anya to hold out her hands. She took a look at the hard calluses that had formed across her palm and fingers. They had been there long before her street sweeping job, and only toughened after. The older woman told her she would start next week and to give notice to her current superiors.

Anya had all but skipped down the Nevesky Prospekt that day.

It wasn't that Anya had any problem _with_  street sweeping, per se. It was _good_ and _honest_ work. Many weren't even as lucky as her to have a job in the first place, even one she had to bear the brunt of the elements for. She knew all too often what women in her position had resorted to. Not that she could even blame them, the promise of a warm bed and a full stomach was a temptation strong enough to tempt even the holiest of saints on a cold winter night.

But she had to keep her head down and out of trouble. She had dreams, had goals, had a city that seemed close yet so far away to get to. Distant, echoing voices that beckoned for her in the darkest hours of the night. She couldn't afford the grave misfortune of negative attention by Bolshevik officers.

When the time came- and it would- Anya needed to slip away unseen. So she did her best to be a good and loyal citizen; working hard and sticking close to the shadows, her ears deaf to the gossip, eyes blind to what happened in the backs of alleys.

And now, Anya would still call the cold stone underneath the bridge her bed, but with her new job she would, at least in the working hours, have shade in the summertime and warmth in the winter. The thought of it alone eased a knot in her shoulders.

As the little storefront came into view, Anya admired that the pale pastel green color of it that set it apart from the plain, uniform white of the others it sat in-between. The gold painted lettering of the shop's name had clear signs of aging, as little bit of it had started to flake off. If anything it just made Anya like it more, too often she found herself gazing at old antiques in the marketplace, from knick knacks to the dresses that had long been out of style. She knew they had all likely been stolen or looted, and that even possessing such things could raise suspicion and entice rumors. Which this city seemed to be full of as of late.

Straightening her clothes one final time, she reached the door. Her nerves bubbled in her chest as she wrapped her hand around the doorknob and stepped through.

The tinkling of the overhead bells seemed much louder than they were. The shop owner looked up from where she was organizing fresh baked pastries into little display cases.

"Oh good, right on time." She greeted and gestured behind the counter, "There's aprons in the back. Smallest ones should be to the left, wash up and we'll start."

Anya nodded and quickly shuffled towards the kitchens.

The shop owner was a woman namned Mariya, but told her to only call her Mara. She seemed kind, kinder than most Anya had come across, but her eyes held a tiredness the seemed to be reflected in all the people in the city.

The kitchen was hot from the heat of the oven as she walked through the door. It smelled heavenly of warm bread and honey. She wondered if the scent would stick to her all the way back to the bridge that night as she tightened the strings to the apron. Shame heated her cheeks when it still hung loosely on her. It had been too long since she had spent her rubles on anything but poor borscht and heels of bread.

She didn't linger too long onto the thought as Mara joined her, quickly launching into a general explanation of the inner workings of the shop. They started first with the ovens. It was clear the place was equipped to be a bakery, and perhaps it once was, now reduced to making smaller treats. The ingredients were in a storage room just off to the right and next to a door that led to the back.

"You can open it if it gets too hot, but always be aware. I've had children and grown men snatch a full batches of still hot pyranik." Mara tsked, shaking her head, the complete image of a disappointed mother. "They're lucky I'm getting too old to chase them down."

Anya tried to best to keep up; baking would be the most difficult, she had little experience cooking out of warming a can of soup over a fire in the woods. The length of the recipes felt intimidating. She made mental notes as Mara continued on, listing their busy hours and days, the location of the recipes, the samovars, when their rations and shipments came in, and most importantly, the loose leaves and dried flowers for the tea.

She marveled at the ornate wood case the held them. Each of the small, boxy drawers had a unique engraving on it. At the bottom there was a label in elegant script listing the contents. Above them sat canisters and glasses filled with more of the unique ingredients. She wondered how such a piece had survived the hands of the unrest.

"And don't be overwhelmed." Mara assured, flipping the sign from Closed to Open. "I promise it's all actually very simple once you get the hang of it."

"One step at a time, right?" Anya smiled, speaking for the first time since she got there.

"Yes. Exactly."

The day itself managed to feel both too long and too short. She had spent the rest of the day shadowing Mara and bringing out orders, her cheeks felt sore from all of her smiling. Never had she smiled so much in her life that she could remember. Which, to be fair, wasn't much. The customers were a variety of sorts, the bulk of them coming in during the early afternoon. There were young men, factory workers, mothers with children, the occasional uniform, and a very chatty florist from the shop across the road. Most of them didn't give her a second look. Mara had greeted each one with the same enthusiasm all the way from the morning to the early evening hours.

Before she knew it the light had started to fade from the sky, and she was learning the routine of closing the shop.

Her eyes turned upward to the sunset as she began her walk home. The clouds had taken tones of lavender and amber with deep blue just edging around them. The bulk of bustling bodies had already made their way home, leaving only those with later shifts or those out for leisure on the pavement. And of course officers. The streets of Saint Petersburg never seemed to have a shortage of the dull olive green uniform around.

A group of them came into vision as she passed the square. The cool chill that accompanied the early spring nights made itself apparent then.

They were most likely dismissed for the day, Anya figured, judging by their relaxed stance as they stood and chatted. Yet the sight of the cluster made her pulse race, despite doing nothing but walking. Their laughter cracked and Anya flinched at the volume, longing to have the thick collar of her coat to tuck her face away into. She couldn't cross the street to avoid them now, that _would_ look suspicious.

She risked a glance upwards as she came close to them. Two of them seemed to be caught up in a conversation, their medals glinting in the brightening street lamps. But the other one had his eyes focused on the street, scanning the few drifting figures walking along the pavement. As if he were searching for something.

Or someone.

His dark eyes landed on Anya. A jolt ran through her, nearly making her trip over her own feet. She realized it was the officer she had run into the week before. She felt her face heat with embarrassment at the memory of the backfiring truck, falling to the ground, strong arms lifting her back to her feet.

His face had formed a shadow of a beard and no longer did he wear the heavy gray coat over his uniform, yet it was unmistakably him. She couldn't make out the name pinned to his jacket but his chest bore several medals of his own. Anya swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

The way his eyes widened he seemed to remember her as well. It looked for a moment as if he was going to stop her again to talk. Anya braced herself for the conversation, but he stayed rooted where he was. Instead he tipped his head towards her in acknowledgement. A small,  yet surprising, smile graced his features. An urge to curtsey in response came across her. She squashed it down quickly, raising her fingers in a small wave, a timid smile in reflected in her features. She was sure her face was beet red at the strange instinct. Any action, especially in front of a group of officers, would be offensive enough to land her the night in a cold, damp, cell.

Her eyes dropped from the man and focused on the ground as she quickened her pace, eager to get back to the bridge. Yet still, she felt the weight of his stare on her back, even after she was long out of his sight.

The bridge was a welcome view, for once as the exhaustion finally settled into her muscles. Their were other occupants under the bridge, and if they noticed she had come back later, they didn't comment on it. From what she could tell the very few things she had were still thankfully there. She happily collapsed down onto her bundle of mixed fabrics woven together to make a mat that separated her from the icy slabs of the stone bridge.

 _Fatigue is the best pillow._  Her mind supplied, though she couldn't remember where she had heard it.

And for the first time, in a long awhile, she  looked forward to her next day of making tea and small treats. The longer workday would take a moment of getting used to but the extra wages were well worth it. Perhaps her dreams weren't going to be So far away after all. She idly traced the cracks of the stone as she thought. Making each line a road to a city. A city of bright lights and color. A different bridge and a river of different name.

Sleep began to edge at her consciousness as a familiar, yet distant, song played somewhere the back of her mind, lulling her as the image skirts that sparked like stars swished around her.

For once, hope seemed to loom dangerously close on the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a build up chapter, as I was initially going to put more to it but it got much too long and rushed the story line. 
> 
> But let me know what you think so far!


End file.
